The change in light and leaf vibrate in bone and marrow as the dance between earth and sun moves from summer to autumn. An evening laying in the grass on a hill, watching the sun drop towards the horizon, I could watch the clouds swell and dissolve at the end of the day. Watching clouds has no use or purpose save for the nourishment it provides the soul.
Two jet planes move west towards Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit. The sun will be gone in minutes, a dying swan in the sky.
As the seconds pass I sink deeper into the grass and grow more content in witnessing the aerial struggle between light and moisture.
It can be challenging to lay and do nothing other than inspect the slow but relentless changes as a contrail becomes a cloud.
I have to remind myself to take a few minutes to look skyward. Too many sunsets and clouds have passed by without recognition.
In the final moments before the sun drops too far along the horizon the color palette changes.
And finally the light and color fades and only the fall of night remains. Such a small investment of time to watch a minor miracle and asking myself why I don’t do it more often.